Saturday, 14 January 2017

City Of The Night

Leading up from the glowing stagnant water where
the river once flowed, the streets are steep and narrow, and silent even in the
daytime except for the occasional squeak of a rat.

Those who used to live
here have long since left, and almost nobody comes this way anymore.

Sometimes, a scavenger
on the lookout for waste might raid the old houses on the hillside, hoping to
find something that might be useful or saleable. But the old houses have long
since given up all their treasures – they are just crumbling boxes of mortar
and brick now. More often, the Guard will patrol, their heavy weapons slung
over their shoulders, their faces covered by gas masks to protect them from the
stench of the dead river; but they hurry past to more salubrious parts of the
city, and leave the streets to the rats again.

Across the dead river,
crusting the ridge on the opposite bank, is the prison, and the guards on the
walls wear gas masks as well. They and the Guard Patrol do not exchange waves.
They do not even look at each other.

The inmates of the
prison do not wear gas masks, but even they are not sent on work parties to the
bank of the river. And as soon as it is dark, the gates of the prison are
locked up tight, and the guards, shivering, withdraw into their watchtowers,
there to wait till morning.

At night, the Others
come out of the warren of sewers, burrows, and cellars, and then only the
insane or the desperate will venture into the streets.

****************************************************

Up from the river came Zed, running quickly
through the dark. He ran as quickly as he could, his ears alert for the
slightest sound other than his own panting and the thudding of his heart. As he
ran, he hunched over, touching the pavement with his fingers every few steps,
feeling for vibrations. So far there was nothing.

Zed was not insane,
but desperate he most certainly was.

Escaping from the
prison had not been that hard. The cell blocks were old and the plaster on the
walls peeling. Over several days, he’d managed to pry the grill from the window
of his cell without being noticed, and then he’d squeezed through and dropped
out into the yard. The guards had been snug in their towers, and the one
searchlight that still worked had been pointed over to the right, making no
sweeps at all.

He’d had a little
trouble getting over the wall at first. He’d already known where he’d do it,
from the roof of the administration building, but he’d forgotten to take into
account that the door would be locked at night. He had to scale the side of the
building, but fortunately there were enough ledges to make it possible. The
ropes and planks had been lying where he’d left them earlier in the day when
he’d been on a working party cleaning and patching up the building – the prison
staff wanted their own working environment in perfect condition – and he’d been
able to get across to the top of the wall and then let himself down it without
being noticed.

Nobody was watching
for anyone to escape. At night, anyone who wanted to retain his life or his
sanity stayed firmly behind walls, where it was safe.

For Zed, neither
sanity nor life was particularly important at this moment anyway.

There had been a
bridge across the river, but it had been blown up long ago, with only some of
the concrete pilings sticking out of the water like broken teeth. The stagnant
water reeked and glimmered under the light of the sliver moon with the colours
of a million poisons, and Z might have turned back if he’d had to swim across.
But from the walls of the prison, he’d seen that there had been the upturned
hulls of a few boats, left over from the old days; and he walked along the bank
until he reached one. Turning it over with an effort, he pushed it down to the
water, climbed in without getting his feet into the liquid, and began slowly
paddling himself across, using a length of plank he’d thrown down while making
his escape. On the river he was easily visible, and perhaps the Others would be
waiting on the other side. But he’d finally got across, unchallenged, and taken
off running. He’d been running ever since.

The streets up from
the river twine and twist around each other like a ball of thread, and Zed
would have lost his way early if he’d had a way to lose. But he was just
running, and the longer he ran the further he got from the river and closer to
the heart of the Others’ night-shadowed realm.

His leg muscles were
screaming with pain and there was a metallic taste in his mouth as he arrived
at a point where three streets met. Once there had been a tiny park at the
junction, little more than a triangle of grass, but a heavy vehicle now lay
there in a tangle of wrecked, charred metal. Zed took a moment to rest, leaning
on the wreckage as he tried to catch his breath and quiet down his racing
heart.

And that was when he
felt the vibration in the ground, even before he heard the noise. At first it
was only a little tremor, but grew quickly, the metal of the old vehicle
thrumming in sympathy to the vibration as the sound grew from a hum to a
clatter and from a clatter to a grinding roar. Zed looked around, unable to
decide which way to run.

The decision was made
for him. A wall bulged slowly and collapsed in a crash of brick and masonry as
the Others’ machine came into the left hand street.

It came churning up
the slope like a cresting wave, borne on lines of iron wheels wrapped in
caterpillar tracks. Its voice was a roar of engine and crushing metal, its
breath filled with smoke and soot. Its eyes were glaring yellow beams of light,
which swept over the buildings, searching. Perched on top, the small turret
revolved, the barrel of the gun like a searching finger. It was too dark for
Zed to see the heads of their victims the Others were reputed to impale on
their machines as decoration, not that he wanted to. It paused, sniffing the
air, looking for the scent of prey.

Zed ran.

He ran faster than he
had before, faster than he imagined he could run, throwing himself round
corners and into tiny alleys between buildings. Now he no longer knew which way
he was going – all he wanted was to get as far away from the machine as
possible. He could no longer hear anything but the roar and clatter of the
machine, and, above it, he could imagine the high breathless voices of the
Others, the incomprehensible words filled with excitement. If they’d seen him,
they’d have called others, and they’d be coming from all around. All he could
do was keep running.

He couldn’t do it
forever, of course. Gasping again for breath, he slowed from a sprint to a trot,
and from the trot to a walk. And still he could hear the machine, grinding and
growling somewhere in the streets behind him.

He could run no
further, so he had to hide.

At some point of time
long ago, someone had abandoned a stack of bricks and other building materials
beside a half-constructed edifice. Between the bricks and the raw plaster of
the building, there was just enough space to squeeze in. Zed looked around
once, saw no better option, and crawled into the space.

There was already
someone there.

The fear clutched at
Zed’s gut like a clenching hand, but only for a moment. The other person there
turned a bobbling, oversized head on a thin neck and peered at him through eyes
so sunken in their sockets they resembled black holes.

“What?” he mumbled,
lips flapping. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you,”
Zed said. The man was obviously quite old and very weak, maybe dying. “What are
you doing here?”

“Came back...came back
to look at old house. Nowhere else to go.” The man’s voice was a quaver. “But
no house now, not anymore. It’s all gone.”

“You actually lived in
this locality?” Zed asked.

The man didn’t seem to
have registered the question. “Nothing left,” he mumbled. “I kept looking, but
there’s nothing left. Not even memories. I...”

“Shh!” Zed hissed.
“Shut up!” The grinding clatter of the machine’s tracks had suddenly grown
again. The yellow beams of its lights swept low overhead, making the cracks and
dimples in the bricks turn the colour of blood. For an endless time the night
filled with sound as the machine ground past.

Zed waited until the rumble
of the engine had faded into the distance before he removed his hand from over
the old man’s mouth. “You can talk now.”

At first he thought
he’d squeezed too hard, and killed the man, because there was no answer, and
the frail figure didn’t seem to be breathing. But then the thin-boned chest
rose and fell in a long, gasping shudder.

“Don’t kill me,” the
old man begged. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

“I don’t want to harm
you in any way,” Zed said. “Just tell me where Red Hill Road is...or used to
be.”

“Red Hill Road?” The
old man’s neck drew back between his shoulders like a tortoise. “Red Hill
Road...three streets from here, to the right. But there’s nothing there. It’s
just the same.”

“That’s all right,”
Zed assured him. He began to back out from behind the stack of bricks. One of
the bricks, dislodged by his elbow, fell on the man’s calf. He squealed with
terror.

“Don’t kill me! You
said you wouldn’t kill me!”

Zed bit back an
exclamation of disgust. “I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m just going
away.” He finished pushing his way out of the gap, turned around and trotted
away. At the corner he looked back one last time. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I
were you,” he called softly. “There are probably more of them around.”

There was no reply.

****************************************************

Red Hill Road was lined with the same empty
buildings as everywhere else, the windows and doors gaping holes, stripped of
every last metal grille or pane of glass. Zed looked around and then moved down
the street, counting off buildings on the left. At the fifth he paused, looking
up.

“Jay?” he called
softly. “Are you there, Jay?”

For a minute there was
no reply, and then piece of cardboard fell out of a ground floor window and
floated down to the street. Zed caught a glimpse of a pale face.

She didn’t speak until
he’d followed her into an inner room, one with a sheet of plywood propped up to
act as a door. It was lit by a candle stuck on the bottom of an upturned jar,
and the only furnishing was a large old mattress on the floor, covered by a
rust-coloured blanket. She pulled the plywood back over the doorway and turned
to him.

“I thought you
wouldn’t come.”

“You sent me the
message, didn’t you?” Zed peered at her. She looked emaciated and sick, the
skin stretched tight over her cheekbones. Her hands fluttered like trapped
birds. “I had to break out to get here.”

She smiled slightly,
sat down on the mattress, and patted the place next to her. “My brother, the
hero. Has the title ever suited anyone less? No, don’t answer that. I’m only
joking.”

“So,” he said.
“They’re all dead?”

“I don’t know. The way
things have been going, nobody has contacts with anyone anymore. The eastern
countryside has no food left, and I heard that the people have risen up in
rebellion.”

“Again,” Zed replied
bitterly. “Once wasn’t enough?”

“Hungry stomachs are a
great motivator.” Jay bent forward to look into his face. “You aren’t looking
great yourself. When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

“This morning? I’m not
sure.”

“Wait. I’ve got a few
biscuits and some parched rice.” He hadn’t seen the inner doorway for the
shadows that shrouded most of the room. She clattered around for a while in the
other room, her voice coming through the doorway. “I got lucky yesterday. I’d
gone out during the day and found a bag someone had dropped. The food was in
it.”

“How do I know?” Jay
reappeared with a thin aluminium plate in one hand. “Things have changed a lot,
Zed. It’s not like it used to be even when you were arrested. Now it’s everyone
for himself, and even then it’s hard to go on for long.”

Zed bit at a biscuit.
It was almost flavourless, like chewing sawdust. “How did you come here?” he
asked.

“It was after the old
house burned. The entire old town burned, actually. Almost nobody was left. The
only thing left to do was run. Only there wasn’t anywhere to run to.”

“It burned? How did it
burn?”

Jay shrugged. “Who
knows? Does it even matter now? There wasn’t anything to be done about it. We
who were left scattered.” She picked up a biscuit, looked at it, and put it
back on the plate. “It burned for three days, and the smoke was still coming up
when I left.”

“And so you came here?
Why here?”

“Why not? It’s as
close as I could get to you, and you’re the last person I had left. I gave
everything I’d brought with me to a prison guard to take a message to you, and
I was sure he’d steal it all. And even if he didn’t, I was sure you wouldn’t
come. But you came anyway.”

“Yes...” Zed swallowed
down the remainder of the biscuit. “I came. And now what are we going to do? Go
somewhere together? Where?”

“Like what – starve to
death? You said you had a plan, in the message you sent.”

“Well, yes, I have a
plan. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why not
now?”

“You’re tired. You
need time to rest, and a clear head. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“But I’m not that
tired...” He cocked his head, listening. There was a noise in the distance,
growing slowly louder. “Jay? Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” She stood
up and walked to the plywood door to listen. “Yeah, I hear something,” she said
at last. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t have to think,” he replied. “I know exactly what
it is. I’ve been running from it all evening. It’s one of the Others’ machines.
You know, one of those that were abandoned and they took over.”

The grinding roar was
growing so loud that the candle flame trembled from the vibrations. “What about
it?” she asked. “It can’t know we’re in here, can it?”

“How should I know? I
don’t know what it can do. Blow out that candle.” In the sudden darkness, he
drew aside the plywood door.

“What are you doing?”
she hissed.

“We need to see what
it’s doing. Come on.”

The pale wash of the
headlights was already painting the street outside the window. Zed crawled on
hands and knees to it and peeked over the sill. The vehicle was an angular
shadow behind the lights, climbing slowly up the street.

“What is it...” Jay
said from the other end of the room, behind him.

“Make sure to stay
down and out of sight,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Don’t get seen.”

She said something,
but her words were drowned by the noise of the engine and the clattering
tracks. Zed could smell it now, the hot oil and exhaust smoke. He pressed
himself to the wall, waiting for it to pass.

It did not pass. Silence
exploded like a thunderclap.

Very cautiously, Zed
raised his head. The machine was stopped directly opposite the building. He saw
the turret begin to turn.

“You...” His mind
whirled. “You knew it was coming. You kept me talking until it came.”

“Of course I knew.”
Her face was a pale oval in the corner. “I called them – from the inside room.
They set up a switch for me to call.”

He couldn’t feel his
lips. “Why? Just tell me that. Why?”

“Why not? I told you I’d
do anything to survive. They let me live here, and give me enough food to live
on. In return...”

“In return you fetch
people for them to play with,” Zed said bitterly. “That’s it, right?”

“If it makes you feel
better,” she said, “I held off you as long as I could. I got men from
elsewhere...enticed them, you might say. Kept them here with my body until
night fell.”

“And that’s all I am
to you?” he asked, appalled. “Something to exchange for food and a place to
sleep?”

“Well, yes. I’m sorry,
Zed, but that’s all I care about any longer. It’s all that matters now.”

Unable to bear to look
at her any longer, Zed turned back to the window. His eyes had adjusted enough
to the darkness to make out the silhouettes of rounded lumps stuck haphazardly
on the turret and the top of the hull of the vehicle. He knew well enough what
they were.

It all came together
so well, he thought bitterly to himself. The collapse of the towns, the death
of society from pollution and civil war, and then the people all died or left,
taking what they could with them, and abandoning what they couldn’t...what
might slow them down, or hurt their own chances of survival. And what they left
went down into the burrows and the sewers, and founded their own society, one
where nothing like a moral code ever existed, one founded on cheerful savagery.
Only they knew how they survived back
in the early days, how they managed to find food and water, and get the
abandoned weapons running again. But they found out, and now...

Now, he heard their
high, excited voices, their breathless incomprehensible words. He saw them
spilling out of the back of the machine, and spreading out as they crossed the
street. He saw the headlights reflected faintly on their depthless eyes and
glimmering teeth.

“The next step of
evolution,” he said bitterly, aloud. “This is what we’ve done, created the next
step of evolution.”

Hoping they wouldn’t
make him suffer too much, knowing they would, he waited, shivering, as the
children came in.

2 comments:

Well, that sucks. I believe I would find it easier to just die myself than to spend time putting off death by setting up the few people I care about. NMaybe I just don't have that survivor spirit like Jay!

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